


Catharsis

by BruiseViolette



Category: Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruiseViolette/pseuds/BruiseViolette
Summary: She'd been mildly scandalized when Draco repeated the rumour, utterly gobsmacked when he confirmed it was true. Not because he'd availed himself of Lovegood's services, but because Lovegood was willing to go so far with someone like him.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Catharsis

Disclaimer: not mine

...

**Catharsis**

What tips Pansy over the edge is the sight of Lovegood's hands. Small, smooth, and porcelain white. Moon-faerie hands, straight from the brush of Courbet. Lovegood meets Pansy's eye across the cafe, sucks dusting sugar from the tip of one plump thumb. Pansy presses her thighs together beneath the table, finally decides.

. ...

She'd been mildly scandalized when Draco repeated the rumour, utterly gobsmacked when he confirmed it was true. Not because he'd availed himself of Lovegood's services, but because Lovegood was willing to go so far with someone like him.

"So, just anyone..." Pansy began, breathless, while Draco scowled over his coffee.

" _Not_ just anyone," he snapped. "It's not as if she's running a brothel."

"Except you heard from Blaise, and he heard from whom? Knott, was it?" She lifted a cigarette from her case, lit it with her wand. A prop, a bit of stage business to sell her nonchalance.

"Knott overheard Oliver Wood at pub with one of the Weasleys... the coarsest one, the dragon minder..."

It had broken upon her then; Moon-colored hair tumbling across Charlie Weasley's tan lines, bizarre vegetal earrings bouncing over Oliver Wood's erect cock, Draco, his head back, long line of his neck exposed, his stomach taut and straining, as was his way...a deluge of images, and always Lovegood's huge, grey eyes, that mysterious, pink mouth, swollen and panting. Pansy placed her fag to her pulsing lips, leaned back in her chair to keep the wetness pooling between her trembling legs from pressing into her robes.

"Seems a vast, varied clientele to me," she said, then took a long steadying drag.

Nonsense, he'd said. Negotiations were never broached with Knott, nor Blaise, he'd said. She'd only used her hands, he'd said, "and it's not as if she charged extra." A perfectly legitimate operation, he'd said, then paused in rattling open his Prophet to stare across the garden. "Thinking back, one does get the feeling it wasn't at all about the client, as it were. It's all her own... personal exploration."

"Hph." Pansy huffed, exhaling a thin line of smoke toward his face. "More like exorcising old demons, in your case."

"Probably." Draco said, ignoring her smoke and redirecting his attention to his paper, denying her the rise she'd been after. She'd felt hot and snippy, her undergarments suddenly too tight about her breasts.

"So how did you know you were privy to..., " she waved her cigarette, sprinkled ash over her half-finished egg and onto the white table cloth, "...negotiations?"

Draco raised one brow, his gaze still sliding across the headlines.

"That I shan't disclose, but, believe me, darling, there was never any doubt."

...

Pansy stands outside the cafe, the brim of her silk hat pulled far forward, contemplating the closed blue door across the cobblestone street. "Tranquil. Sea. Spa," she whispers, the precise movements of her lips around the words heightening the tightness in her belly. She doesn't think anymore about snuffing this desire, of dissecting its origins - all those strange, tense encountres during Pansy's second seventh year. She doesn't neurotically overanalyse previous sexual proclivities, her utter indifference toward women as a whole. Not a moment spared for those sad, drab creatures, their undue impertinence or disgusting servility, their lukewarm, frothless femininity, like dirty dishwater, extinguishing every bright blue flame.

She thinks only of Lovegood's pink mouth. Her pale, nymph hands.

...

The receptionist is just about to graciously deny Pansy entry when Lovegood appears from the depths of the building and dismisses her for the evening. It is 4 P.M. on a Friday, and Pansy has no appointment, has come at the last minute to perhaps, she tells Lovegood as the receptionist exits, arrange one for as soon as possible.

"It's just, I've a debilitating catch in my lower back, and I hear you work wonders." Pansy arches slightly, indicating the area of tension.

Lovegood blinks her big, grey eyes, pulls her wand from its hiding place in her chignon. Short, jade green robes skim her curves. Her earrings are dull shards of sea glass. A muttered spell and the desk drawer before her pops open, gently bumps the top of her thigh.

"As luck would have it, I can accommodate you now, if you're free," Lovegood says, extracts a long piece of coral pink paper from the drawer, pushes it across the desk with two fingers. Pansy glances from the coral paper to the almost identical lavender ones stacked neatly on the corner of the desk, holds her breath as her stomach clenches.

She sees the anomaly at once, the last line at the bottom. A small picture, a left hand, fore and middle finger crossed, "Special Services" in tiny curved script beside it.

"Do you know what you'd like?" Lovegood asks, her odd voice soft, the low ethereal notes of a panflute being played in a glen. It settles on Pansy they are very much alone. Lovegood blinks her grey eyes, offers her small, unfathomable smile.

"Ninety minutes, please," says Pansy.

...

Lovegood draws the blankets lower over Pansy's arse, her cotton robes brushing lighly, dragging up goosebumps on Pansy's bare arm.

"Are you comfortable?" Lovegood asks. "You'll let me know if you become chilled."

The oil is the same temperature as Pansy's skin, but Lovegood's hands are firm, feverish hot, her plump thumbs fitting in the dent above Pansy's bum as if bespoke for the purpose. Pansy exhales as both palms travel up along her spine, wonders how long etiquette dictates she must wait. The candlelight flickers on the floor, dances in accord with Lovegood's movements. She works and works, languid but sure, and Pansy could take just this away, could lock herself in her room, get it all out of her system in a couple of hours. It's been two weeks since the discomfiting breakfast with Draco, two days since she'd seen Lovegood in the cafe. Two weeks without touching herself, of denying the low-key thrum of tension in her groin. Pansy had never cum over a woman before, but Fate seemed to have it Loony Lovegood would be the first, one way or another.

 _And she did offer_ , Pansy thinks, _after everything..._

She counts to one hundred, then raises her left hand, fingers crossed, rests it on the table just above her head.

Lovegood's hands never stop, but slide beneath the blanket, smooth over the raise of Pansy's bare arse. She lingers, learning the curves there a moment, squeezes, then says, "Can you sit for me?"

She straightens, steps back. Pansy gathers the sheets about her chest, rises from the table, crosses her dangling feet at the ankles. A sound of glass bumping wood, then Lovegood steps forward, the heat of her body running the length of Pansy's spine. Her slick hands cup Pansy's shoulders, slide down to the top swell of her breasts.

"You don't need this," Lovegood whispers close in to Pansy's ear, running her fingertips under the sheet. Pansy hesitates, then let's it fall away, lets it pool around her hips. Lovegood's hands smooth down her back, once, then twice, following the deep curve of Pansy's waist, her ribs, then coming to cup the bottom halves of both breasts, thumbs rubbing slow circles along the outside swells.

"It might sound strange, but I'd hoped you'd come...," Lovegood whispers, barely squeezing the weighty flesh in her hands. "I know you can't know how the time in Draco's house... shaped things for me...or how any of it has to do with you...," Lovegood's four fingers sweep feather light stokes over Pansy's erect nipples, back and forth, " but I'd hoped he'd tell you of his visit, that it would stir the Nargles that once infested your pretty head."

Light, light. Over and over. A touch so gentle it feels profane. Pansy sucks her bottom lip, grasps the sheet, feels it pull against her belly.

"We've a rocky history," Lovegood whispers dreamily, her touch like warm swirling water, "Draco and I. You and I. I just think we all deserve catharsis...," She steps closer. Her robes, the tip of her tits inside, brush Pansy's bare skin. "To be honest, I've far too much pent up energy over you...," She says, rolls Pansy's nipples between her thumb and finger. "I've been touching you in my head ever since seventh year."

Seventh year, when everyone hated Draco and Pansy was almost equally despised. When Pansy had seen Lovegood leave freshly scrubbed from the Prefect's Bath, then watched as Draco emerged a mere half minute later, smoothing his wet hair and straighteing his robes. When she'd catch Lovegood in full blush, those silver eyes staring at her with that uncanny way of seeing through her, and Pansy's face would grow hot and she'd scowl Lovegood's way then hunt down Draco for a fast, dirty shag.

"H...how?" Pansy says. Lovegood palms Pansy's tits, her breath shallower, faster on Pansy's cheek. Pansy turns into it, closes her eyes. "Tell me how...are you rough with me?" she whispers, "Are you as horrible as I deserve?"

Lovegood's chest hitches, and Pansy leans back against her, seems to swell within her working hands.

"I've tied you down," Lovegood whispers, a breeze rustling green,spring leaves. "I've burned welts on your skin with wax." She pinches Pansy's nipples , brushes the shell of Pansy's ear with her lips. "I've fucked your mouth with my fingers. I've sucked your tits until you came...until I came."

Pansy groans, rolls her aching bottom against the table. "Can I...?" Lovegood asks, trails a hand down the center of Pansy's stomach, slips it beneath the sheet and over the top of Pansy's mound. Pansy uncrosses her ankles, lifts her hips. Lovegood strokes the inside of one thigh.

"Please..." Pansy says, sinks. Her head falls back on Lovegood's shoulder. "Please..."

Lovegood's whole porcelain hand cups her and strokes, a forever of slow, cruel torture. Pansy moans, tilts into it, clutching and unclutching the sheet. Lovegood's fingers finally breach her, but don't push inside.

"We can finish like this," Lovegood says, draws Pansy's own wet over her clit, moves her fingers in a soft, tiny circle, "or you can touch me too..."

"Gods, yes...," Pansy sobs, and then Lovegood's hands retreat, and Pansy's back is exposed, but there's the sound of a zip, and a rustle of fabric and then Lovegood is before her, huge grey eyes hooded, candlelight glittering on her wet lips. She parts Pansy's thighs, closes the space between them, expertly presses all their soft parts together.

 _So much for only using her hands_ , Pansy thinks. Thinks, but doesn't say, because the time for talk is over. Lovegood is shortish, curvy, with huge whipped cream tits and a peach-shaped arse in fine mesh knickers. She draws Pansy gently to the edge of the table, bucks against her as their tongues meet, begins a slow, rhythmic grind. They rock together, breath after breath, falling blonde hair and cherry gloss, bite-bruised flesh and Luna's swollen pink mouth. Two pale fingers trace Pansy's lower lip, and Pansy sucks them in deep, sweet with scented oil and the taste of Pansy, herself. Luna thrusts against Pansy's tongue, digs her fingers against Pansy's slick back. She crooks out a dreamy little smile, swerves, then shudders, and Pansy bows upward in a full body spasm, convulses again and again against the sopping gusset of the fine mesh knickers.

The table is too narrow to collapse upon, and Pansy is forced to remain face to face at the moment she has before always rolled away to stare at the ceiling and light up a fag. Luna licks her lips, slowly takes in Pansy's body from stomach to eyes with her touch, her gaze, as they try to catch their breath.

"You really are a magnificent creature," Luna says, lays a moon-faerie hand over Pansy's heaving breast. "I hope you found the therapy acceptable."

"Oh...Oh, yes. Quite, " Pansy pants out, grins at the non-sequitur. "I have been quite relieved..." she says, unfolding her legs from Luna's waist and sliding her bum back on the table. "And you?" Pansy asks as Luna rounds the table to retrieve her robes. "You've, um, worked out your...pent up energy?"

Behind her a little "hm...," then the feel of a cleansing spell, then the sound of a zip.

"Honestly," Luna says, "I don't think so. Not yet."

Pansy glances over her shoulder catches Luna's eyes as Luna moves around the table, untangles her hair from the sea glass earrings.

"Oh, no. What now, then?" Pansy says, knowing damn well 'what now.'

Luna comes to stand before her, appraises her still nude form, gently pushes the dark hair from where it's fallen over Pansy's eye.

"I've another appointment with Draco next Thursday," Luna says in her floaty dream way. "My understanding is he probably wouldn't necessarily mind were you to...tag along." Pale, nymph hands stroke the tops of Pansy's thighs.

"For cathartic special services..." Pansy leans toward the pink mouth, "to purge us both of our Nargles."

"It's near impossible to get rid of them all, you know," Luna whispers, brushing Pansy's lips with her own. "I'm afraid we'll have to try, try again.'

.Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> drop a like or a thought :) Thanks for reading!


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